Choosing My Ride: Redefining the Journey on Pedal to the Pitch
There’s a kind of bike touring I dream about—adventure-filled, community-driven, scenic, community connections, spontaneous. There’s even a kind I obsess over. But this past week, I realized: there’s also bike touring I just don’t want to do anymore. And that’s okay.
Five weeks ago, I started Pedal to the Pitch in Hartford, Connecticut. I’ve pedaled 1,119 miles solo and unsupported—about a third of the way through this cross-country journey, which is mapped around attending milestone USL and NWSL soccer matches in support of Louisville City FC and Racing Louisville FC. Unlike my 2013 coast-to-coast trip (4,197 miles from Oregon to Rhode Island), this route isn’t meant to be a single, uninterrupted line across the map. This ride is about something different—connection, purpose, and joy.
“And that’s the kind of touring I want more of: the freedom to choose. The freedom to end the day because the vibe is right, not because it’s the only option.”
The past five weeks, I’ve ridden in 90-degree heat, pushing 65+ pounds of gear over long hills and through mountain passes. I’ve started pedaling before sunrise just to beat the worst of the day’s heat. I’m proud of that strength and resilience. But what I’m starting to accept is this: I’m no longer interested in combining intense heat, unpredictable headwinds, remote stretches, and miles of solitude. I’m done with the kind of touring that feels more like survival than exploration.
When you’re out in the middle of nowhere, your daily mileage is dictated by the next water source or shelter. In 100-degree heat with no town in sight for 35 miles, your ride becomes a logistical puzzle—how much water can I carry? What happens if a storm rolls in? There’s no winging it. There’s no stopping because you found a charming coffee shop or met a fellow cyclist to swap stories with.
Rhonda and me in 2013 in Idaho while riding the Trans America Route.
And that’s the kind of touring I want more of: the freedom to choose. The freedom to end the day because the vibe is right, not because it’s the only option.
I’ve biked across Kansas—twice. I don’t have anything to prove anymore. I’m now in Colorado, and honestly, I feel a sense of relief. The stretch ahead—from Fort Collins to Colorado Springs—feels like a reward: towns with food and water every few miles, supportive infrastructure, bike paths, hosts, and friends. This is the kind of touring I love. This is what fills me up. And this is my trip—I get to choose it.
Over the past few days, I’ve been meditating on a route change beyond Colorado Springs. I’ve reached out to trusted touring friends—Rhonda and Jon, who are currently riding the Trans Am through Oregon. I’ve talked with cousins, close friends, and folks who know or live in Southern Utah and Southern Colorado. All signs point to extreme heat ahead, and I’ve seen just three touring cyclists in over 1,100 miles. I’m ready for something different.
So here’s the plan: after Colorado Springs, I will be renting a car and head to the Pacific Northwest (at this point starting in Bellingham WA, headed south to reconnect with my Portland community (where I lived for 19 years). Then, I’ll ride down the Pacific Coast to San Diego, revisiting the coastal route I first pedaled 22 summers ago with my friend Gina—from Lincoln City to San Francisco. This time, I’ll go even farther, finishing in San Diego.
Yes, the coast is busy. Yes, there will be traffic. But there will also be towns, food, campsites, and people. I’ll trade isolation for connection. Heat for ocean breezes. Uncertainty for flexibility. And loneliness for community.
At first, changing the plan felt uncomfortable. Like I was quitting something or letting myself down. But now? I’m excited. I love the ocean. I love the people I’ve met through this journey. And I love that I get to decide what kind of rider I want to be—because this is my trip. My version of Pedal to the Pitch. And I’m going to keep riding toward joy.